to quit work—got indigestion or gastritis or some o' those stomach things. So we're goin' across the Pacific. You're going along."

"Not me!" ejaculated Mart quickly, wondering if his chum were crazy. "I got to hold my job. I'll get a chance at a real wireless job in the spring, maybe."

"Well," and Bob shrugged his shoulders, "if you'd sooner work in the shop for eight a week than be wireless man on the Seamew at forty a month and all found, you can. And if you like San Francisco better'n the other side o' the world, suit yourself. I ain't your boss, of course!"

The two stared at each other, and slowly the reality of the thing grew in Mart Judson's brain. Yet it was impossible! He had his wireless license, but no one would employ him at his age. But Holly was plainly in dead earnest. Mart could only stare.

"Where you going?" he asked suddenly.

"Tringanu."

"What's Tringanu?"

Bob hesitated. "Well, I'm not quite sure myself," he answered. Then his face brightened quickly. "Here's dad coming now—we'll ask him. It struck me kind o' sudden too."

Mart turned as a step sounded behind him, and his hand met that of Stephen Hollinger. The millionaire was dressed roughly in serge and yachting cap, for he was his own captain aboard the yacht. His strong, whimsical face lighted up in a smile at Mart's expression.

"So you got down, eh! Glad to see you. Bob told you about it yet?"

"I just got here," replied Mart. "If he wasn't joking, Mr. Hollinger—"

"Where's Tringanu, dad?" broke in Bob excitedly.

Captain Hollinger—for he assumed this title aboard the Seamew—looked at the two boys amusedly, then took each by an arm and propelled them toward the companionway.

"Come along to the cabin; I'll give you half an hour. You see, Mart, we've been so rushed that even Bob hasn't had time to get an explanation. I got doctor's orders two days ago to drop business and do it quick. So we came up from Pasadena, the yacht will be in commission in another day or so, and off we go to Tringanu!"

Five minutes later Mart Judson found himself at a big mahogany table, his chum opposite him, while the captain got charts from another cabin. The luxury about him was astonishing; mahogany furnishings, walls, bookcases, a talking machine and a piano, electric lights and fans. Everything that could add to comfort or convenience was there, and he was soon to find that the rest of the yacht was fitted up in like manner.

"Now," began Captain Hollinger, returning with his maps and charts, "maybe you know, Mart, that I'm something of a big game hunter, eh?"

"I should guess!" grinned Mart. Like everyone else in San Francisco he knew that Stephen Hollinger was an enthusiastic sportsman; indeed, mining and hunting were said to be his chief pleasures in life.

"Well, I'm going hunting. And I'm going here—" he put his finger on the map as the two boys craned their necks over it. "Tringanu is one of the Malay states, on the mainland of Asia; it's not exactly civilized, but I'm thinking of getting a mining concession there at a place I heard of.

"Here it is, on this chart of the China Sea. About halfway up the coast of Tringanu, see? It's this bay and the lagoon, where the river drains that big basin, that ought to have gold. There are tigers in the hills, so I'm going over there on my vacation, maybe get a gold-mining concession from the government, shoot a tiger or so, and come home happier, healthier and wealthier. Isn't that a good program, Mart?"

"You bet your life it is!" cried the boy, his eyes shining eagerly. "Golly! Say, was Bob talking turkey about my going?"

"I guess he was," laughed the captain, looking at Bob. "I told him I could use a wireless man—had to have one, in fact—and he said you had your license."

"Got it two weeks ago," admitted Mart with some pride. It had cost him many hours of nightwork and study, had that license as wireless operator. Then his face fell suddenly. "I'm not old enough to take the job, though—"

"Shucks, that don't matter!" broke in Holly. "This isn't a reg'lar job."

"No," assented his father. "All you would have to do is to get market reports every few days and send some messages back. Look at these maps again, boys. Now, here's the place, I figure that we'll go to Honolulu, then hit straight for our goal. The river is named Kuala Besut, and we'll probably stay there a couple of weeks or more, using divers. All the gold along there has to be dredged up, you see. While the diving is going on, we can run up-country shooting."

"Who put you wise to the gold mine, dad?" inquired Bob curiously.

"Old Jerry Smith—a man who has spent all his life out there. He's going to sail with us. Now hush up for a minute, both of you. From Honolulu we go direct to the Malay coast, cutting in through the Philippines without stopping. On the way back we can do all the visiting we want to.

"There's the plan, boys. We'd like to have you go along, Mart, to take care of our wireless. Salary, forty a month and all found. Of course you'd mess with us, at the officers' mess, and you boys could have great old times. How about it? I believe you are free to go, Mart?"

"Plenty free, sir," nodded Mart. "I've had no one to worry over me since mother died, two years ago. Only—it's an awful big thing for a fellow to make up his mind to, right off the bat like this. These here Malay States—aren't they pretty wild and woolly! I've got a notion that's where the pirates come from—"

The financier broke into a laugh.

"Not to-day, Judson! Why, in Tringanu they make some of the best steel in the world—the natives, I mean. That's where those curly krisses and Malay daggers come from. But the piracy is all over. Tringanu isn't exactly civilized, I'll admit, but it's under British protection, like all the rest of the Malay States.

"This place where we're going, Kuala Besut, is inside these islands here, and Jerry Smith says that we can go right up the river in the yacht. Also, he says, it will be easy to take trips into the jungle with some of the native chiefs, and bag a tiger or so."

"Who's this Jerry Smith?" asked Mart.

"He's an old-timer—been beating around the Pacific most of his life. They say he used to be a pirate and blackbirder and that he can tell strange yarns if he will—but that's all talk. He's just a quiet, white-haired old man. I've found from other sources that there'll be no trouble getting a concession on the place—if there's any gold there. Now that's all I know about the thing. It's up to you, Mart!"

"Well," grinned the gray-eyed boy, glancing at his friend, "you needn't worry about me. If you really mean it, I'd—I'd pay you to take me along, sir!"

"Not much," laughed the captain. "It's the other way around, Mart. Well, we sail Monday morning. Old Jerry is getting a crew for us and he'll come aboard Sunday night with the men. You'd better quit work at the shop to-night, get our wireless in shape over to-morrow, to pass the port inspectors, and rest up Sunday. I'll detail Bob to help you—he's been acting as supercargo up to date."

"Much obliged," grunted Bob sarcastically, "How about an outfit? Will Mart have to get any clothes?"

"Not on my ship. They'll come out of the slop-chest. Oh, you needn't look that way, Mart," and the financier laughed at Mart's dismay. "Slop-chest is sailors' slang for ship's stores. Just fetch your ordinary clothes. Bob, you'd better get that stateroom next to yours fixed up; then you boys can be together. Now, is there anything more you fellows want to know?"

"Lots," shot out Mart with a sigh as he rose to his feet. "I want to know so much that it makes my head ache to think of it—but I've got to get back and get these fixtures down to the Peniel before dark. I'll turn up in the morning ready for work. And, say, I'm sure grateful to you, Mr.—er—Captain Hollinger! And I'll do my best to earn my salary, you can be sure of—"